


Knelt beside my hope torn apart

by Mellaithwen



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Secret Wars Battleworlds
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Community: hc_bingo, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Planet Hulk, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellaithwen/pseuds/Mellaithwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fix-it fic. Spoilers for Planet Hulk #5...aka how I wish it had ended.</p><p>
  <i>His head is pounding and his stomach is hollow from days without food, but Steve would know his warbound mate anywhere.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knelt beside my hope torn apart

**Author's Note:**

> Fix-it-fic for Planet Hulk #5 so be aware there will be spoilers for that issue...
> 
> also this fills my slavery square for hc_bingo.

_So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light_  
_'Cause oh that gave me such a fright_  
_But I will hold as long as you like_  
_Just promise me we'll be alright.._ \- Mumford  & Sons

 

.

 

Steve hasn’t eaten anything in three days, and while his grief has long since destroyed his appetite, he knows that he will not last much longer without some form of sustenance. He has nothing but his skills as a fighter to trade, and so, he rides Devil towards a more populated area of this bleak landscape he has found himself in, in the hopes that he can find employment of a kind.  Anything to distract him from the memories of all that he’s lost. 

 

They’ve been riding for hours when they come upon a marketplace on the shores of Port Banner, nestled in the shadows of the mountain ranges that span the borders of the Badlands.

 

He leaves Devil hidden away beyond a ridge, and ventures forward alone. 

 

Word has not yet reached these lands of his exploits, and so, Steve’s reputation as the Red-King Killer does not hound his every step. 

 

He passes a group of Hulk’s hunched over what—at first glance—looks like a pile of rocks, but on closer inspection, looks more like an intricate game. Steve is all at once reminded of the old men playing Chess in Washington Square Park. But that world is gone now. Obliterated by War. The old men are dead, their bodies, like the park itself, have been ground down to rubble and dust. Steve sighs.  No one around him is interested in the strange human wandering in their midst, but perhaps that is because he is not the only one. 

 

The trading of slaves in such places as this is popular, Steve knows, but he has never found himself drawn to such things until now. He cannot explain it, but today he cannot ignore the small sideshow that has formed around a Master Hulk and the poor soul he keeps bound before him.

 

“This here’s my last!” The slave trader cries jovially, gesturing to the man in front of him, as if he were a grocer trying to sell his final punnet of berries. He tells the crowd of Hulk’s an exaggerated tale of how he single handedly caught the last remaining stragglers of the Thor Corps—and the many uses they could have in their new owner’s possession. 

 

Steve tries to swallow past the lump in his throat at the horrible sight of the last remaining captive. There is a thick chain connected to the collar around his neck. His chest is littered with scars and burns and his long hair is limp and greasy, hanging down and hiding his face from view.

 

The trader kicks the man in the back of his legs, pushing him to his knees. Steve bristles at the cruelty he’s being made privvy to. No one should profit at the mistreatment of others, and yet Steve cannot look away. The slave teeters for a moment, before pressing his right palm to the ground to reclaim his balance. His fingers dig into the dry earth at his feet, with a familiar kind of determination.

 

And in that moment, Steve cannot breathe.

 

The slave’s left arm is missing, leaving only red marks and gnarled scar tissue at the shoulder instead. Scars that Steve recognises, having traced them gently with his own fingertips while his lover slept on.  Memories of lying together at night—clinging to one another, safe in Devil’s shadow—come to the forefront of his mind with an almost unbearable level of clarity. 

 

This is no captive member of the Thor Corps. No. The slave at his feet is Bucky Barnes. He’s sure of it. 

 

His head is pounding and his stomach is hollow from days without food, but Steve would know his warbound mate anywhere. He’s certain of it, and the rage he felt when he faced the Red King, and his own demented doppleganger, pales in comparison to the sheer fury he feels now.  His body practically thrums with it, and he regrets having left Devil behind. He wants to destroy everyone and everything at once, and the dinosaur has a certain knack for speedy demolition. 

 

“Don’t be discouraged by his injury,” the sneering voice of the slave trader says, far too close for comfort, having mistaken Steve’s attention for that of a paying customer. “He is quite capable I can assure you.”

 

Steve clenches his jaw.

 

Bucky has yet to raise his head, and his breathing seems uneven. His body is hunched over, and trembling so badly that he could lose his balance and topple over at any second were it not for that right hand still grasping at the ground below. 

 

“With the proper incentive—” The trader starts to say, holding a cattle prod aloft. Steve reacts instantly, swinging his shield at the Master’s wrist before the cruel device in his hand can make contact with Bucky’s side. The trader roars as the bones in his wrist make an awful crunching sound as they’re broken and mashed together and pinned to the floor. 

 

“Don’t you dare.” Steve says menacingly, pressing down with his shield until the trader’s numb fingers drop the weapon to the ground. It lands with a clatter, and all of this noise must break Bucky out of his reverie because now Steve can feel those familiar eyes watching him. Blue orbs glazed over with pain but still staring at his saviour in awe. 

 

“Steve?” He rasps, confused, his voice hoarse from disuse. 

 

“Unchain him.” Steve says, leaning in close. The trader—snivelling in pain—looks as though he might argue but Steve clenches his fingers, pushing the shield down further, and the broken bones of the traders wrist grind together once more. “ _Now_.” Steve says, with terrifying emphasis. 

 

He nods, and Steve lets go, allowing the trader to cradle his mangled limb to his chest before unlocking the padlocked collar around Bucky’s neck. As soon as the chain falls to the ground, the trader backs away, angrily, and the small crowd that has gathered in gross fascination begins to thin out. Uninterested, now that it’s clear no blood will be spilt. Unwilling to be dragged into the matter any further.

 

Throughout all of this, Bucky has remained completely still, his eyes never leaving Steve’s.

 

“Bucky?” Steve says, his voice now a whisper as he joins him on his knees, reaching out and clasping him by the shoulders. Bucky tries not flinch, but Steve notices all the same. “Is it really you?” He asks.

 

Bucky looks unsure for a moment, but nods then, his body sagging forward as the the tension keeping him upright is suddenly released.  


 

“ _Steve_ , God—I n-never thought I’d see you again.” Bucky confesses all at once. His words strung together and rushing out in desperation. 

 

His right hand reaches out to touch Steve’s chest, but stops just short, as if afraid. He holds it aloft instead, hovering over the dirtied bandage where a red star has been drawn in blood.

 

“Doom,” Bucky starts to say. “He said—he—I was t-trying to—oh _Steve_ —”

 

“Shh, Bucky, it’s alright.”

 

“But the Red King—”

 

“—is dead. At my hand. For you.”

 

The relief on Bucky’s face is palpable. 

 

“He told me you were dead,” Steve continues. “He had your arm as a trophy and he told me you were gone.”

 

“Guess that was b-better than admitting he’d let me escape.” Bucky replies, with a ghost of a smile on his face. “Not that it did me any good. Barely out for a day, before the slavers attacked.”

 

“I should have known you were alive—I should have—”

 

“You’re here now. Steve, look at me, y-you saved m-me.”

 

_‘My hero,’ Bucky says, from underneath the rubble of a bombed out building, in a city long forgotten and lost._

 

Steve frowns, shaking his head at the memory. Bucky’s shivering is getting worse. He helps him to his feet, and they make slow progress towards the first vendor they see. The Hulk there behind the stall looks at them warily, before pointedly turning their back. Steve grabs at the folded material of a worn blanket, and steals a bag of food before focusing on Bucky.

 

“We need to tend to your wounds—”

 

“N-no.” Bucky says adamantly, stopping Steve in his tracks. “I want to put as much distance b-between us and this godforsaken p-place as we can.” He doesn’t tell Steve that he’s afraid that more slavers will come, he doesn’t need to. Steve knows him well enough. 

 

Instead, Steve wraps the blanket around Bucky’s chest, and hooks his right arm over his shoulder before setting off in the direction of their cretaceous companion.   As they turn to leave, Steve hears a clatter, and looks to see a canteen of water lying at their feet. The vendor is still pointedly looking away, but his intentions are clear, and Steve thinks it’s the closest thing to kindness he’s ever likely to come across in this desolate place. He retrieves the water-filled leather skin, and clutches Bucky close as they make their way West.

 

By the time they make it to the ridge, the sun is setting low over the horizon and they are greeted by the victorious roar of their dinosaur, happy to be reunited with his warbound brothers once more. 

 

Devil snuffs happily as Steve helps Bucky mount the creature, before joining him on the dinosaur’s back.  When they are both safely positioned, Steve shuffles closer to Bucky, who is fighting sleep in his lover’s arms. He is exhausted from his ordeal, and severely dehydrated, no doubt, _but so completely alive,_ that Steve’s heart cannot help but ache at having a reason to beat once more. 

 

His head almost spins at the rush of blood through his veins, while, in his arms, Bucky jerks awake again.

 

“Sleep.” Steve suggests softly, at Bucky’s insistence to the contrary, tucking the stolen blanket tightly around him, while keeping them balanced and upright on the dinosaur’s back. 

 

“‘M fine, ‘m awake.” Bucky mumbles in return, convincing no one as his his head lolls from left to right. Steve smiles, resting his chin into the crook of Bucky’s neck—bruised but no longer chained. 

 

“I know,” Steve says. “But I’m here, and you’re safe. So you can rest easy.”

 

When Bucky neither responds or falls asleep again, Steve adds, “Do it for me?”

 

“That’s a low blow, Rogers.” Bucky says finally, smacking his lips together and nuzzling closer into his partner’s chest. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

 

The next thing Steve hears is the quiet snoring of Bucky sleeping in his arms. Bucky’s body has finally stopped shivering, and his skin no longer feels ice cold to the touch. The serum must be working double-time to counteract the torture Bucky has faced. Despite all of this, as they ride off towards an uncertain future across the almost barren landscape of Greenland, Steve cannot help but embrace the familiar feeling of hope he gets whenever Bucky’s near. They will find courage, they will find a home, they will survive, they will endure, and they will do so together.

 

_‘We’re gonna make it, Steve. We just gotta keep fighting.’_

 

With Devil, the dinosaur, in tow.

 

 

 

\- Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Quite possibly the cheesiest ending I have ever written but NO REGRETS because it's 01:15am and I had to get this done, or it would have just gone on the WIP pile never to be seen again.


End file.
